Feminization of a man by his wife

Feminization of a man by his wife

It wasn't what she said; it was the way she said it that got him to do everything she commanded. It wasn't that he couldn't overpower her...after all, he was a man of six feet, and she was a woman half a foot shorter and 100 pounds lighter.

It was like a teenaged son having a confrontation with his mother. He could overpower her, but he wouldn't because, well, because she was his mother. Neil could overpower this woman, but he wouldn't because, well, because she was his lover.

She had measured him very carefully about six weeks ago now, chest, waist, hips, not just the circumference measurements, but also the vertical ones, chest to waist, crotch to waist, etc, until she had it just right. Now the package had arrived in the morning mail and she had instructed him to go to the bedroom and strip naked and wait for her. He stood there now with nothing on but a wedding ring and waited. He was embarrassed, not just because he was naked, but because of his erection. He couldn't will it down. She could do this to him, just because of his addiction to his fetish. She knew it and he knew it, and there was nothing he could do about it, but there was a lot that she could do with it.

He waited like a dog in a kennel, finally sitting on the edge of the bed where he had thrown his skirt and blouse, straightening each and admiring the cut and femininity of them. He couldn't remember the last time he wore male clothes. Was it the Christmas party? That was the last time he had seen his friends. He had politely declined the Super-bowl party in January, numerous boys-night-out dates, and in April a golf outing. They didn't phone any more now and he was fine with that, as his life had changed.

It had all started with the fire. Well, that's actually when it all ended, depending on one's vantage point. Jade, his wife, had always liked to see him in women's clothes, loved to dress him up and apply make-up and do his hair. She admitted to being somewhat bisexual (somewhat?), but she wanted the best of both worlds in one body, and that body was his. At least it used to be his. This particular day in early January, she had laid out his lingerie and clothing for him to wear, did his make-up and then took him into the greenhouse which was attached to the living room in their foothills estate. She calmly put shackles around his wrists and ankles and locked them shut.

"Wait here," she said, as she went back into the living room and disappeared. He eventually caught outside movement through the glass of the greenhouse and saw her struggling with a large cardboard box toward the barbecue pit about fifty feet from his viewpoint. She left and came back with another, then another until there was a stack of them, perhaps six large boxes in all. She turned to him and smiled as she took some lighter fluid out of her pocket and doused the stack until the can was empty. Then she came to the small door in the greenhouse and opened it.

"What's in the boxes?" he asked.

"Clothes," she responded, "your clothes."

"What? What do you mean?" he said with alarm.

But she just smiled again and closed the door, walked toward the stack of boxes, took out a match, struck it and threw it. There was a "wumph" sound and his male life disappeared before his eyes.

Since then she had shopped for him, both at stores and on the internet, and filled his bureaus and closets with skirts, blouses, dresses, bras, panties, hose, and wigs. The wigs were no longer used, as his hair was now long and properly feminized.

And now the corsets had arrived. She had pledged to him that he was to go on a strict waist training regimen, twenty-three hours a day, seven days a week, all year. When she came into the bedroom however, she was carrying far more than just the three corsets. He was told to be quiet while she emptied the contents of three boxes. The first contained the corsets, all leather and severe looking, with huge eyelets to allow excessive lace pulling he assumed. Each was a different color, one black, one green, and one pink. Pink? The second box contained two pairs of shoes, pumps actually or perhaps more correctly, stilettos, with impossibly high heels and thick, full ankle straps. The third box contained a surprisingly realistic set of squishy silicone breast prosthetics and two bras to fit.

Ooh boy, this was going to be quite a fitting, he thought, as she approached him with the breasts. He had had several treatments of hair removal over the last few months, and his chest hair was completely gone, as well as his leg hair. The facial hair was scheduled for next month.

"Stand still while I glue these on," she said.

"Glue them on? With what? How do I get the glue off later?" he asked.

"It's very safe surgical glue. And why would you want to get the breasts off? It will last a few days, if not a week before you need a re-fitting."

"I see," he said, as she spread the glue on the breasts and then applied them in a circular rubbing motion so there would be a complete seal. "Hold them on for a few minutes and don't let go. It needs to set. Put this on in about five minutes." She put a pink support bra on the bed beside him and went over to inspect the pink corset, laying it out on the end of the bed, straightening the laces and checking for flaws.

While waiting for the glue to set, she asked him, "You so love this don't you? You're so obvious." And she glanced down at his throbbing erection. "You know, there are a couple more things that I have to do to totally transform you. One will be the breast implants. We'll do that next year. The other is to get a chastity belt, one that fully covers and flattens that giant clitoris." She playfully slapped his penis and kissed him passionately on the lips while pushing herself against his hands on his "breasts".

Her right hand wandered to his penis and scrotum, while the left hand explored the smoothness and femininity of his hairless belly. "Ooo, my little she-male, you are about to undergo a world of change. I can hardly wait." She hugged and fondled him for awhile, as he continued to cement his breasts to his chest. Finally she said, "Okay, let them go...slowly."

Neil took the pressure off the breast prosthesis with trepidation. They sagged, putting pressure on his pectoral area, pulling with the weight, and then they held, bouncing slightly.

"Jesus," he exclaimed, "they feel like part of me!" And he made his upper body go up and down a few times to get used to the sensation. They bounced authentically, but he felt like he needed some support, so he put on the bra as instructed. That felt better, but the weight on the straps was something he was going to have to learn to contend with. Such was his life now, and he had resigned himself to it.

Jade was watching him with delight, "Excellent! Now, put your hands over your head. Time for the corset, sunshine!"

He, as always, did as he was told, and she immediately wrapped him with the stern device, zipper and busk at the front, and laces at the back. The top of the zipper ended at a short post under his bra, with a hole in it which seemed peculiar, but it explained itself when Jade slipped the end of the zipper over the post, added a small lock, and clicked it shut. The slow process of tight-lacing began. Slowly, methodically, the vice got tighter, not uncomfortably he noticed; it was more like a tight hug, an embrace, an unyielding grip. His waist was being preferentially slimmed compared to his chest and hips, cinching him in, inch by inch. The breathing was becoming more shallow and chest-oriented with each tug of the laces. Then she tied it off and wrapped a cloth tape measure around his waist.

"Twenty-eight inches. Excellent!" she said, and then she started fumbling with the laces once again.

Jesus, he thought, his waist was normally thirty-two inches! Where the hell was his stomach and liver going to re-locate? He was getting tired of holding his hands over his head and was about to ask for some relief when he heard a "zip" followed by a click of a second lock.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It's the lace lock. The laces are folded inside a sac which is zippered to the back of your corset, within a flap which covers the laces. It's locked shut so you can't tamper with the laces, at least not without destroying the corset. I'll warn you now, once and only once, that if you destroy any part of these corsets, you will be punished severely. Got that?"

The tone of her voice made it very clear. He did not want the bondage and whipping that he had received earlier on in his training. That was clearly etched in his brain.

"Yes ma'am," he said. He put his hands down and immediately felt the compression increase in his chest. His breasts were forced upward and outward, while his ass was forced backward, his waist merely a narrow hinge. "Holy shit! This is freaking tight!"

"Well," she said, "It's a start. I'm going for twenty-six inches with these corsets. Should take a year, perhaps more. In six months or so I'll order your next set of corsets which will get you to twenty-four inches. Now here are the rules. From now on, you'll be wearing a corset twenty-three hours a day. I will unlock you for one hour every morning for your shower, but that's it, no more."

He was still back at "twenty-six inches" and he looked at her, incredulous, "Two more inches tighter than this? No, wait...Four more inches?" he said breathlessly.

"You'll get used to it, I'm told. Your internal organs will actually shift over time and find new positions relative to each other. The key is to be relentless. That's what the locks are for. Oh, I almost forgot; it's time you learned to walk in high heels. Sit on the bed."

He sat down and breathed shallowly with the increased compression. Jade put a stiletto on each foot. Then Neil understood what the thick ankle straps were for as she made the wrap at the ankle, and then put a lock through hasps on the straps to lock them on. He looked at her as if to say, "Are you serious?", and then stood up, teetering.

"Oh my God! When do these come off?" he asked.

"At bed time," she answered, "and then they get locked on after your shower the next morning. Now put this girdle on to hide your hideous clitoris and get dressed in your skirt and blouse."

This was no small task now that he was restricted with the corset and the shoes, but he eventually was fully dressed and he walked unevenly to the full length mirror near the corner of the room. He gasped.

He had a waist, hips, and breasts of a woman. Not only that, but his make-up was good enough to help him pass as a woman, even in the daylight. The giveaway was his walk. He was a man in drag; that was clear.

Jade laughed, "Okay, that is just NOT acceptable. I will NOT have you look like a man in drag. Start practicing baby. Walk."

His face burned red as he tried to look feminine, but the result was the usual male strut with exaggerated hand-flaring in what every male thinks is a feminine walk. The elbows were out and he swung his arms from the shoulders. He was not going to fool anyone.

Jade shook her head and yelled at him, "Do you think women look like that? Jesus! Okay, let's start at the beginning. You now have a waist. Put your elbows into the waist. Swing your arms at the elbow and take small steps with your foot under the hip each time you step outward. Imagine a line in front of you and put each foot on that line as you walk forward. It takes poise and balance and grace, none of which you have right now, but you will."

He listened and tried, but she was right. The corset and heels stiffened him up, made him nervous, but he tried to remember. Elbows in, small arm swing, small steps, on a straight line. Okay, again. Whoops! Again.

Jade looked with pleasure at her creation and felt a surge of power over him.

"Okay, that's a good start sweetie. Now go put on your apron and make us some breakfast. Scrambled eggs with sausages, coffee black. We'll eat outside this morning. The sun is just asking to be sat in, isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am," he said. He was always nervous about outside exposure when he was dressed like this, but with no male clothes now, he had to do it, if he wanted any fresh air at all. Fortunately, the yard was very private, and only rarely did a fisherman glance into it as he cast his way downstream in search of the perfect rainbow trout.

Neil went into the kitchen and put his apron on. The walking made his breasts pull on his chest skin as his breasts bounced in the bra. Well, that was an interesting sensation, he thought. It was then that he truly started to notice the size of his breasts. He could see his feet only with effort and a lean forward. They were always getting in the way. He opened the pantry door to get some bread and it hit his left breast, which caused him to loose his balance and stagger on his spiked heels. His calves were already in fatigue from the impossible angle of his foot and the shortening of the Achilles area.

When Jade came out and sat at the nook to watch him get breakfast ready, he turned to her and said, "I'm not sure I'm going to like this. I mean, the corset is nice and all, but these heels...Jesus! In fact I think I want to take them off. They're really hurting my legs."

She just looked at him and smiled, "You WILL get used to them. You'll see. I am NOT unlocking them. So fuck off and cook the breakfast."

Jesus! She sometimes called him her slave, and there was a lot of truth to that. He now did all the cooking, the dishes, the housecleaning, laundry and ironing, in fact every single domestic chore while she watched TV or read the newspaper. As he thought of this, he turned to her once again and said, "You know, sometimes I think you consider me your slave. This is a pretty one-side relationship. A little appreciation would be nice you know." He immediately realized how submissive and feminine that sounded.

Jade just looked at him and said flatly, without emotion, "You ARE my slave. I tell you what to do and you do it or you get punished. I control everything. I have the money, the house, the cars, everything. You have nothing. But if you don't like it you can always leave. I might allow you to take a few dresses and such, but you will have to leave with essentially nothing. Sorry to have to put it that way, but this is the way I like it and this is going to be the way it is unless you choose to leave. You're in way too deep now. You signed over your assets to our joint account which I promptly moved to my personal account. You have nothing except me. But you don't really have me, do you? I have you. I own you. Where's my coffee?"

He looked at her, eyes wide, mouth agape and was about to argue, when he realized she was right. It was like he had just broken out of a dream and realized where he was. He stared at her, humiliated, and dropped his eyes to look at his pathetic excuse for femininity, the falseness of it all, but he had indeed "crossed over". His fetish had claimed him. He wasn't really a slave to her as much as he was a slave to his fetish. She was only the deliverer, the messenger. If he walked away from her, he walked away from his fetish. And that, he could not do.

"Oh my God," he said out loud, and went back to cooking the eggs.

"It's Goddess," she explained, "and make my fucking coffee and bring it to me on the deck. I get grumpy without my coffee."

His calves ached like hell, his waist was cinched and locked, his "breasts" bounced heavily in his bra. He would have breast implants next year. His penis stirred in his girdle. Oh my God, oh my God, he thought, and he said, "Yes ma'am. I'll get it for you right away Goddess."